Last Night
by stress
Summary: It all began with a button.  Written for the 2010 NYNA Summer Competition. One Shot.


******Disclaimer**: Most of the characters in this story are the property of Disney and are only used for fan related purposes. Any original characters featured are the intellectual property of their creators.

* * *

**Last Night**

* * *

It all began with a button.

Well, to be more clear, it didn't _all_ begin with a button—though the button played a pretty big part in it. If Mush was telling it straight, then it all began with his papes and his attempts to sell as many as he could on a bum headline.

Mush Meyers was different from some of his fellow newsies because, unlike them, he didn't have one constant selling spot that he claimed as his. Every day brought something new. Sometimes he sold alone, sometimes went around with Kid Blink, sometimes he sold in Central Park, on Bleeker Street, in Little Italy… wherever his feet took him, that's where he made his stand.

That day, Mush had already gone out with Blink to sell the morning edition down near Orange Street. Profits were slim, customers were hard to come by, and the two boys decided to split up for the evening edition. Blink headed off towards Irving Hall and Mush went the opposite way. Stopping at the first busy corner he came to, he dropped his meager stack of papers at his feet. Then, after picking up the top one, he scanned the front page for something to help him sell his papers.

"'Man Eating Rabbit'," Mush read to himself, shaking his head. He knew the headlines had been bad lately, but _this_ bad? Did the rabbit eat the man, like a man-eating rabbit, or was some fellow eating a nice, hot rabbit stew and a nosy reporter thought it was news? How was he supposed to sell his papes with headlines like these? Resigning himself to a night of eating stale bread, he nevertheless hefted the paper up high and began to hawk his wares as best he could.

He sold a couple, and he was surprised to even sell that many, before deciding that maybe he would have better success on a different street corner. However, before he could retrieve his papers, a soft gentle voice called out to him. "I'd like to buy a paper."

A customer.

Mush glanced up. She was a poor girl, a girl like him, probably sixteen years old though the way she hugged herself made her appear older. With light brown hair tied back with a frayed lavender ribbon and pale blue eyes, she was pretty enough under a light dusty covering that coated her cheeks, a smear of dirt running down her left cheek. She wore a light grey beggar's dress with worn cuffs and a dark crooked patch stitched on over a hole in her skirt. Her fist was folded and it was that hand she held out to Mush.

He realized after a second, when the girl cleared her throat and offered her folded hand back out to him a second time, that he'd been staring; worse, he'd been _caught _staring at her. Clearing his throat in that boyish way he had, he held out one of his papers to her. "A paper for you, miss."

She took his paper before unfolding her hand and pressing her coin into his. "Your penny."

At least, she _said _itwas a penny. As the girl strolled away, her newspaper held to her chest, Mush got a closer look at the circular object she placed against his palm. It wasn't a penny. It was an old brass _button_.

"Hey, miss!" he called to her retreating back. "Excuse me, miss! This ain't a penny, it's a button!"

He might've thought it was all just a mistake, a misunderstanding, if that wasn't for the fact that, as soon as he hollered, she started to run. The ends of the pale purple ribbon in her hair flapping as she hurried away, she dodged the people on the street in front of her effortlessly, moving as quickly away from Mush's corner as she could.

Picking his papers up and tucking them securely under his arm, clamping the offending button tight in his fist, Mush took off right after her.

He had to hand it to her: she was fast. But Mush was young, fit and, most importantly, feeling wronged. He ran faster than she did, following her path exactly as she weaved in and out of the crowd, leaving a trail for him to follow. Though he did bump into a young man out with his lady, and he stopped for a moment in order to apologize, he figured that she wouldn't get too far ahead.

He was right.

Mush caught up with her down a side alley off a busy street. She was coughing, a fit that stole her breath and caused her to stop in her running. Leaning up against the brick wall, her head bowed as she tried to catch her breath, Mush managed to approach her without her hurrying off again.

"You cheated me," he accused when she finally caught on to the fact that he was there.

It took her another minute to get her breathing under control enough for her to answer. Her face had gone pale under the dust, her lips drawn and thin and just as white. The coughs stopped, she gulped in the air and, when the color returned back to her face, she managed to ask, "So?"

He'd expected her to deny it and it surprised him that she didn't; it ruined his argument that she agreed so readily. He shook his head. "I gave you a paper. Where's my penny?"

She exhaled softly, still holding her hand to the stitch in her side. "I don't have one."

The unfairness of it all struck Mush. She knew she didn't have a penny and she still tried to buy a paper? "So you tried to buy one of my papes with a _button_?"

"I needed the paper," she said simply.

Interested despite himself, Mush asked, "What for?"

"It burns," she answered simply.

"But it's summer!"

The girl was staring over at him, her turn to watch him intently, taking in his darker skin and his coarse curly hair. She pursed her lips, then awarded him a small, sad smile. "What's your name?"

"Mush," he answered right away before wondering if he'd been tricked. His name—nickname or not—was one of the only things that was _his_ and he offered it up for nothing. Then again, if she hadn't asked him so outright, so honestly, he wasn't sure he would've. So, yes, maybe she _had _tricked him.

"Mush," she repeated, and there was something about the way she said his name that made him sort of glad he told her. "Ya wanna know something? You're the first one to go after me for givin' you a button."

He didn't know if that was something he should be proud of or not. He settled on asking in disbelief, "You mean, ya do this a lot?"

"I need a lot of papers," she offered with a shrug of her shoulders. "I'll show ya why if ya want."

He paused, wondering why she was so quick to offer. Then again, if he wanted to know, he only had to follow her. "Tell me your name first."

"Why?"

"I gave you mine."

She nodded her head as if recognizing his point. "Then ya can call me Polly."

* * *

Maybe he hadn't really been paying attention when he was running—and he hadn't really, not when he was just trying to make sure she didn't leave his sight—because Mush wasn't too sure where the girl, Polly, was leading him. After catching her breath enough that she moved quickly, briskly without a single cough, she headed straight down the alley she'd turned onto, making a sharp right once they emptied out onto another side street.

She led him on, never once turning behind to see if he was following, but Mush was far too interested to stop. He was curious and it didn't matter that he was giving up selling his evening papes to discover why a girl would be so bold as to try to buy a _New York World_ with a brass button. If Mush was being honest, he'd given up on selling the moment he saw the headlines the writers had come up with that afternoon.

He wasn't sure he would ever find his way back again if there was ever a reason to, the path Polly took him on was so winding, so twisted. If Mush was a devious creature, he might've suspected she did this on purpose in order to keep him from doing just that. Then again, he might not have been devious by nature but he lived with some of the most suspect boys in New York over on Duane Street and he had a pretty good idea that, yes, Polly was doing her best to keep him from remembering the direction.

So preoccupied with his thoughts on where she was taking him and why he had actually followed her—Polly being a pretty girl had something to do with that—Mush didn't realize that they had arrived at her destination until she stopped and he nearly ran right into her back. He managed to stop himself just in time to see a small opening in a wall covered with a single, rotting piece of wood.

Mush looked up. The wood was covering the only entryway in a small building that looked like it had been abandoned long ago. He couldn't help himself. "This is why you needed to cheat me out of one of my papes?" he asked curiously. "To help patch up this hole?"

Polly shook her head. "You'll have to come inside for me to show ya."

See, now, people were always picking on him, telling him he was too nice, too trusting. Mush was the boy Racetrack Higgins went to when he had gambled away his lodging fare and he was always willing to share a glass of sarsaparilla down at Tibby's with any of the fellas who couldn't afford their own. He always thought the best of others and it took something startling—something like finding a button in his palm rather than a penny—for him to realize that not everyone was as honest as he was. It would be a stupid idea to follow a girl he just met into a building that was both dark and foreboding—

She moved the wood away, revealing a hole wide enough for the two to slip inside. Propping it to the side, she climbed inside herself before turning around to look at Mush. "Ya comin'?" she asked, her free hand holding onto the inside of the wall.

—he went in anyway.

* * *

"What is this place?" Mush wondered out loud after a moment. "Who are these people?"

The maze inside had been just as hard to navigate as their path towards this place but since it was dark, and Mush had really begun to second guess his decision to follow Polly, he made sure he stayed right on her tail until the hall they were in finally opened up on a room filled with candle and, after his eyes readjusted to the flickering light, at least fifteen other children, some older, some young, all of them looking as careworn as Polly did.

"My family." She met his blank expression and understood exactly why he was confused. "We were all orphans together but then the orphanage burnt down," she explained in a curious sort of emotionless tone. "The madam wanted to send us all away but the group of us, we escaped before she could. We didn't want to be split up, ya see, and now we're not."

Mush heard the touch of pride that crept into her voice and knew without a doubt that she must've been one of the masterminds behind brining all of these children to this abandoned place. His suspicions were only confirmed when, as she walked further in, most of them, the children and the older kids, they all welcomed her, more than one cheering her safe return. He heard a little girl with missing front teeth lisp a question about him, and was surprisingly pleased when Polly answered her with a sweet, "He's my friend, Susan."

Word about Polly's friend spread through the room, and Mush felt his cheeks go red as all eyes turned to watch him. He busied himself with following the hypnotic sway of the lavender ribbon in Polly's hair. It hung loose, long, over the fluff of Polly's light brown hair, moving gently back and forth with every step she took. Mush only realized that she'd taken him where she meant to when the ribbon stopped and she cleared her throat.

"You wanted to know why I needed a newspaper," she said softly. "Meet Lindy."

Mush had enough time to look around and notice that Polly had led him to the far reaches of the room, in a separate corner from the other children. There was a grate on the opposite side of the wall, dying embers casting a sad shadow at a small figure that lay huddled at his feet.

Lindy was a small, tiny girl with skin so white that it had a bluish tinge to it. Curled up on herself, clutching tightly to an old, moth-eaten quilt with fingers half the size of Mush's, she lay there, asleep, tiny blue veins visible on paper-thin eyelids. It was peaceful, and Mush wasn't quite sure why Polly was introducing the girl to him, until Lindy gasped and started to cough so violently that it racked her entire body and sent the quilt flying towards her feet.

"Shh, Lindy," Polly whispered, dropping to her knees and running her hand soothingly across the little girl's brow, "I'm back." She reached out with her other hand, pulling the blanket back over so that it was covering Lindy. "It's okay," she murmured, tucking her in. "It's alright."

The girl's coughs subsided at last, giving way to a little whimper until her breathing became still once more. Her eyelids fluttered, revealing the whites of her eyes, before they calmed. Lindy had fallen back asleep.

Polly knelt beside the little girl for a few quiet moments before slowly rising back to her feet. Mush hadn't even noticed that she still held onto the paper she purchased (well, not really _purchased_) from him until she turned and bent down again, adding it to the feeble fire in the grate. The flames gave a spark of life, not enough, but it was warmer.

"It's summer outside," she said, worried lines coming to her forehead as she turned back to face Mush, "but poor Lindy's always so cold."

A pregnant pause hung between them and Mush understood just why Polly had done what she did. Wood cost money, paper cost money, but if she needed something to burn, something to warm the ill little girl, what else could she do? A button for a penny and maybe Lindy could be warm for a few more hours. He would've done the same thing if Blink or Tumbler or Boots had come down with a cough like that. He would do what he could for Lindy, too.

"Here," Mush said suddenly, breaking up the quiet as he handed Polly the rest of his stack of papers. "You should take these too. The fire'll burn longer this way."

Polly accepted them, staring down at the newsprint, her hand almost shaking as she did. She looked taken aback, but undeniably grateful, almost like she never expected such a generous gift. And she hadn't. She just wanted him to understand why she cheated him… and though the fifteen newspapers he gave him were appreciated, she could hardly believe he would just give him to her like that.

A simple thank you wouldn't be enough but, nevertheless, she tried. "Thank you—" she began before an even louder cheer heralded the arrival of more of the orphans returning to their hide-away.

An embarrassed flush rising and then faded from her cheeks, Polly hefted up her skirt, hurried past Mush and moved out into the open of the room in order to see who had arrived now. Mush, feeling like someone should stay by Lindy—but not wanting to get too close in case he could catch her cough—he just hovered further back, though he did move just a bit closer. Well, he was a bit curious, too. He wanted to see what everyone else was seeing.

Three boys had come in, each holding a bag. Two of them were alike enough to be brothers, with the same dark skin and matching shirts, with the leader being a boy of about seventeen years with fair hair, a slender build and light eyes like Polly's—one of which, Mush noticed, that was squinted nearly closed, a nasty cut and an even uglier bruise forming underneath it.

"Look at we got here: some turkey," he boasted loudly, reaching in the bag he was holding and lifting up a turkey leg with more chunks bitten out of it than were left, "and some potatoes," potatoes with spots on them, old and wrinkly but still edible, "plenty of bread," bread so stale they resembled rocks, "and that's just what I found. Tim and Tom got even more in their bags. We're gonna eat like kings tonight!"

"It'll be a real feast, Simon," Polly said warmly as she of all the others approached the lead boy with a tenderness and familiarity that made Mush pay closer attention, "but what happened to your eye?" She lifted her hand up and lightly brushed the cut, gently caressing the puffy skin under his eye. No doubt about it, he would have one hell of a shiner come morning. Which, Mush thought uncharacteristically to himself, he probably deserved. He couldn't say he liked the way Polly fussed over him.

The boy, Simon, puffed out his chest and Mush thought he looked like a proud peacock. "Some other kid wanted the turkey leg. I wanted it for us more."

Polly sighed, the other children cheered again, and Mush watched in amazement—and just a touch of jealousy—as the food began to be portioned out, Polly and Simon lining the children up and passing the food out. He noticed that she was the one doing most of the divvying, making sure that the younger children got their share even, acting the part of the judge when two kids fought over a potato.

In his life, Mush had been hungry, too. Really hungry. So hungry that his stomach stuck out and his whole body ached until he was almost convinced that he was eating himself from the inside out. On those days he would eat anything—but he'd never been so hungry that he was willing to eat someone else's half-eaten trash. It was absolutely amazing… and not in a good way. Just the thought made his stomach churn… and in a good way, either.

Still, he was inwardly glad when, after making her rounds, Polly stopped to stand by his side. He couldn't understand the flash of jealousy that hit him when Polly's hand brushed Simon's cheek, or the sense of contentment that settled over him with her back by his side. He couldn't understand, and no wonder: he'd just met the girl, and she'd been trying to cheat him! Or, he mused with a backward glance at Lindy, _had_ she?

Polly waited until Mush reacted to her presence by, well, actually meeting her eye before she gestured at the food being handed out. "Would you like some? What," she asked when Mush held up his hands and shook his head hurriedly, "not hungry?"

Mush decided he would've rather starved than take the food out of their mouths. "I had lunch," he told her, neglecting to mention that he'd shared it with Blink and both of them had gone away hungry. "What about you?" he asked next, turning the question back on her.

Her eyes glanced at the room as a whole, taking in the sight of the too-thin children and the food they all ate slowly as if trying to make it last. "Maybe later," she said with a soft sigh.

And Mush understood why Polly herself was so thin. If the others could have one more morsel, she went without. Still a young woman herself, she treated these orphans like her children, she the mother over such an unruly bunch. "I—" he began before shutting his mouth and saying nothing else.

After all, what _could_ he say?

* * *

The two of them stood together in silence for a good while, Polly surveying the scene around her, Mush wondering what he was supposed to do now. She had just finished explaining her need for his papers—and he'd given her the rest he had—when her Simon came in with the stolen food. He didn't know if he was supposed to just leave (or even if he wanted to) and he contented himself with standing still, throwing sidelong glances at Polly, watching and waiting to see what she was going to do next.

He didn't know how long they stayed, but it was long enough for the fire in Lindy's grate to start to sputter and die. Without a second thought, Mush bent down and retrieved one of his old papes from where Polly had stowed them. He threw one into the fire, smiling a bit to himself as a particularly fierce flame gobbled at the lame headline; it read "Man Eating Rabbi" for a second for the rest of the print was consumed.

Then he stood up in time to notice the peculiar way Polly was watching him. He wondered if he had done something wrong.

Without a word, Polly walked across the room, stopping to talk to one of the younger children sitting on the floor, pausing if to listen to something one of the older one's said to her, before she finally reached a pair of girls standing in a corner, talking quietly. Mush could make out the one facing him and noticed that she looked to be about his age, just like Polly. She was just as thin as Polly, her skin stretched over her bones, her long, brown hair hanging limply in her face. Still, there was no mistaking the way her features lit up when Polly came to join her. Her frown quirked upward and she straightened, suddenly talking with much more enthusiasm than she had been.

Even from his place across the room, he could hear Polly's clear laughter ringing through the din. The others had given Mush a wide berth—he was a stranger, and though Polly vouched for him, there were still plenty of wary looks, curious looks, being thrown his way—and he edged both closer to where Polly had gone, mindfully staying within reach of the sleeping Lindy while not staying _too_ close just in case. There was boy, Rusty, who came down with a case of the coughs last winter. Mush knew all too well what it could do to a fella.

He watched as Polly turned to talk to the girl whose back was still to him. They exchanged a few quick words, Polly patted her gently on the shoulder and turned back to head towards him. After only a second, the red-headed girl spun around slowly and began to follow her. She ambled awkwardly and the reasoning behind that was clear as her swollen belly appeared: this young girl was with child, and very far along from what he could see.

Mush's eyes immediately dropped to the dirty floor. It wasn't proper to look upon a woman in such a condition; even worse, considering she couldn't be any older than he was.

"Mush," Polly said, and out of the corner of his eye he saw that she had laid her arm on the expecting girl's sleeve, "this is Mona."

Mush, knowing it would be rude not to, glanced up to look into a slightly worried, slightly frightened face. Her red hair was pulled back, revealing a mousy expression that was only intensified by the way her green eyes were squinted, making them appear darker and beadier than if she had kept them opened wide.

"Hello," she said shyly, her hands folded nervously over her rather large belly.

He spared her an embarrassed sort of friendly smile before he promptly returned her gaze back to the floor.

"Mona's gonna sit with Lindy," Polly explained, "so, if ya want, I can take ya back out onto the street now."

And Mush was quite taken aback to find that he was willing to follow Polly anywhere... as long as she stayed in the lead.

* * *

"I'm sorry," she said, once they had stepped back out onto the street, "I never should've brought you here. It wasn't fair to show you Lindy… or anything else. I just wanted to teach you a lesson for chasin' after me. I… I'm sorry, Mush."

Mush couldn't believe what he had just heard and his mouth dropped, his jaw going slack. What did she say?

He couldn't get over it: how impressive Polly was, how far she was willing to go to protect her family, how everyone in that one room hovel looked up to her. And to think he accused her of trying to cheat him—well, she had, but she'd had a good enough reason, he decided. He felt like such a louse, chasing after her like that… though, he thought, if he'd pocketed the button and taken the loss, would he have ever met the girl?

Maybe he was simple, maybe he was naïve, but Mush was certain he was falling hard for Polly. It sounded far-fetched, he could hardly believe it himself, but he'd heard about falling in love at first sight. So what if it just took him a couple of minutes longer?

And to think she was trying to apologize to _him_. The way he saw it, he should be telling her how sorry _he _was.

He took off his hat, a show of respect. But before he could even begin to apologize, Polly's eyes widened. "What did you do that for?"

"Do what?"

"Take your hat off. No one ever takes their hat off for a girl like me."

"Not even Simon?" he said, before thinking about what he was saying. Then he remembered that Simon hadn't been wearing a hat and he felt even more like a fool. Jealousy did that to a fella, sometimes. Mumbling under his breath, he added, "If he had one, I mean." He'd never been all that good around girls and that was a good example of why. All it took was a pretty face, and Must lost his sense. He was actually a little impressed that it had taken him this long to say something so foolish.

She looked as surprised by what he said as Mush was by the way he said it. "No, Simon wouldn't do that for me. And why should he? I'm only his sister."

"Simon's your brother?" Mush asked, only too aware of how excited he sounded.

Polly nodded; if she heard the excitement in his voice, she ignored it. "My big brother. Our parents died when we were little and we were sent to live at the orphanage. He was all I had for the longest time, and he's always been there for me and me for him." Turning so she could look behind her again, she shared a genuine grin that made her look much younger than she had—and, he noticed, prettier, too. "In fact, I gotta say I'm surprised that he hasn't followed me out here yet. He was quite interested to know who I was talkin' to inside. That's another reason I had to let you out. Simon woulda gotten to you soon enough."

That was when Mush had his burst of inspiration. He wasn't interested in talking to her brother, just her. "Let me take you somewhere," he offered.

She glanced over her shoulder again, her gaze lingering at the back alley that led to her hide-away. "I really should go back…"

He couldn't explain it—but he knew that he didn't want to leave her just yet. There was something about her. The way she tried to trick him (and almost did) and how devoted she was to the girl, Lindy, how she was so sweet to the younger children… how she kept turning to look behind her to give him a hesitant grin and a shrug of her shoulders whenever someone else took her hand and took her away from him.

"For an hour," he blurted out, "or a half an hour. Fifteen minutes. Five… just, take a walk with me. I won't chase after you this time, I promise. It'll be a nice walk." He couldn't explain it, they'd only just met, but he had the insane desire to take her hand now and promise that he would make everything okay. But he couldn't so he just said, "Please?"

Polly's eyes widened and, unless he was imagining it, there was a pale pink color creeping slowly across her dusty cheeks. "Where would we go?"

He hadn't expected her to agree and his heart nearly skipped a beat. "Well, I haven't figured that part out yet."

And then she laughed and Mush's heart leapt.

* * *

He didn't mean to lead Polly to Irving Hall. Considering he didn't know where exactly her hide-away was, it was pure, dumb luck that ended up with the two of them coming across Medda Larkson's vaudeville joint. And they would have kept on walking right past it, enjoying the night air, talking together companionably , if it wasn't for another stroke of luck—or the fact that, after a night out on the town, Racetrack Higgins didn't know what he was doing half the time.

With one hand holding onto the gaslight stand, another pressed to his forehead and it wasn't only the light throwing shadows at the garish plaid vest Race liked to wear that made him recognizable.

Mush stopped, moving in front of Polly, and called out, "Race?"

Race's head shot up, he groaned and then laughed, looking to his sides and then behind him before he realized that Mush's call had come from a couple of feet ahead of him. Pushing himself off of the pole with the flat of his palm, stumbling a bit as he staggered over to Mush, he squinted under the gas lamp light, working hard to make out Mush's face. When he had, his lips split into a wicked, warm grin. "Mush? Hey, Mushy, what're you doin' out here?"

He pulled the stub of a cigar out from the inside pocket of his vest as he stopped a few feet away from Mush and Polly, stuck it between his lips and after almost dropping it once, reached for the box of matches in his pocket. "Say… didn't I leave you inside?" he asked around the cigar then, fumbling with the matches. Half of the sticks fell to the dirt; Race didn't even notice. Cursing under his breath, he tried to light the match, striking it once, twice and failing to hit the side of the box each time.

He was slurring, staring at Mush like he wasn't supposed to be standing there, still trying his damndest to light the match when he still wasn't even making contact with the coarse strip. He hiccupped then, laughed a little to himself, threw his matches down and proceeded to take a good, strong drag despite the fact that he never lit the cigar's end.

"Race," Mush said hesitantly, "you okay?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm gr—I mean, I'm _great_! Medda's, y'know… well, you know how a show at Medda's can get." He laughed again, a short chortle, and leaned in conspiratorially, "It's pretty wild in there. But you would know, eh… wait a sec," he said, and Mush—trying not to smile at how loose and laidback a good pint made the short gambler—thought he might've realized that his cigar wasn't lit yet, "I don't remember seein' ya in there at all." Suddenly, his dark eyes glassy and wide from whatever it was someone—probably Pie Eater or Specs—gave him, he noticed Polly standing just behind Mush. "You'se got a girl with ya, Mush."

Immediately removing his hat with one hand and his cigar with the next, Race licked the palm of the hand holding his cigar and tried to flatten his already greasy black hair down. "Why, hello," he said, in what he probably thought was a charming sort of voice. In the back of his mind, Mush almost thought he sounded like he was imitating Cowboy. "The name's Race, and I—"

"Hey, Higgins!"

Race nearly dropped his cigar but, despite his drunken state, he managed to hold onto it. His hat, on the other hand, dropped when he started, falling to the dirt. He wobbled, stooping down low to pick it up, and nearly fell over himself. He would've, too, if it wasn't for the strong arm of support offered to him by a slim, wiry boy who seemed to appear out of nowhere (but probably had just followed Race outside).

"Spot? Spot Conlon?" Mush had heard all about the infamous leaders of the newsies in Brooklyn. "What are you doin' here?"

Maybe it wasn't the smartest thing to do, questioning the volatile leader of the Brooklyn newsies, but Mush couldn't help himself. He'd met Spot a few times, each time when he was passing through Brooklyn for one reason or another, and he'd never seen him on this side of the Brooklyn Bridge.

"I heard there was a good show going on at Irving Hall tonight, so I thought I'd take a trip over." He looked past Mush, his cyan eyes landed on Polly, standing in Mush's shadow. "I see why you stayed away."

"You should come back in," piped up Race, reaching into his pocket for who-knows-what, and pulling out a used handkerchief. "I bet ya five-to-one odds that I can finish the rest of my gin bottle before you do."

From behind him, he heard Polly try (and fail) to stifle a snort and he knew that he would'nt give up this nighttime walk with her for a _peep _show inside of Medda's and a _full _bottle of gin. "I'll have to pass, Race. Maybe next time."

"He's just jealous," Race said, looking up at Spot as if only just realizing that he didn't actually hit the ground when he fell but was being held up by Spot.

Spot ignored him, but he did heft him up to his feet, hooking his hand under Race's arm as he pointed him in the direction of the entryway. "Meyers," Spot said with a nod at Mush. "Meyers' girl." Then, holding tight to Race as he led him back to the entrance of Irving Hall, Spot started to drag the other boy away, while Race, deciding he was suddenly Casanova, blew a kiss at Polly before disappearing around the corner.

Mush didn't know what to say. Polly's laugh said it all for him. And before any of his other friends left Irving Hall—not that he really expected them to, considering both Race and Spot's assessment that there was a real shindig going on inside Medda's joint—Mush gestured to Polly to follow them back down the way they came. Only then, when there was a block separating them from the vaudeville hall, did he join in her laughter.

* * *

The journey from Irving Hall back didn't last half as long as it did on the way out—or maybe that was because Mush was desperate to remain in Polly's company. After they left Polly's hide-away, their walk had given them enough time to talk and it hadn't taken long for Mush to discover three things: one, that this was the most relaxed he'd ever felt with a girl; two, that he really liked Polly; and three, that he was beginning to regret not paying closer attention on how to found the abandoned building again. It looked even more different in the dark of night, and he knew for sure that he would never find his way back.

They both paused in front of the wooden door, Polly's hand resting lightly against the warped edge. She didn't move her fingers for fear of getting a splinter, but tapped a soft rhythm instead. She kept her eyes on him, a searching gaze that made Mush's stomach twist and tie itself up in knots.

Then, when he was worried that he might say something else that made him appear as dumbstruck as he felt, Polly awarded him a small smile, one that lit up her whole face. "It's been quite a night, Mush. I… thank you."

Taking her gratitude as a sign that she'd enjoyed the evening as much as head, no matter how… interesting it had started out, Mush eagerly asked, "When can I see you again?"

She looked genuinely surprised that he would ask her that. "I don't know. Why would you want to?"

Why would he _want_ to?

"I… I like you, Polly," he said, his face on fire, his words stumbling as he made his confession. "I know we've just met, I know I'm just a newsie, but I like you."

"Would you believe me if I told you I like you, too? But we're different, Mush. You know that, right? You said so yourself. You've got a job, a place to sleep at night… me, I have the children. And Simon. And then there's my own cough," she admitted almost begrudgingly. "It was fun to have a night to myself, but I don't think it can happen again. We're… we're just too different."

It was the first time in his life that being a newsie meant he was too _good_ for someone else...

Mush surprised himself by answering quickly, "I don't care." Even better, he discovered he _meant_ it. "I'm not afraid of your cough, I'm not afraid of Simon—"

"You should be. He can be a tough rascal."

The way she immediately jumped to defend her brother only _proved_ what a girl she was—the kind of girl he wanted to make his girl. "See! You care, you care so much 'bout others, Polly, 'bout Simon and Lindy and all of them orphans. Why can't you care 'bout me, too?"

Her small smile turned sad, wavering before it disappeared entirely. She didn't say anything for awhile before she whispered, "I could, Mush, I really could… and I think that's why it's better if we just stop… _this… _now." She bowed her head, pulling her hand back for the edge before reaching to move the piece of wood for herself. Pausing, she added, "Thank you for the papers. I'm sure they'll help Lindy a lot."

Mush opened his mouth to argue, to try to explain, to say _something_ before she slipped inside that building and he never saw her again, but he never got the chance. Before he'd even said another word, there was a muffled knocking that echoed and then a voice calling out, "Polly, is that you?"

She'd jumped away from the wooden door when the knocking began and, once she heard her brother's voice, she closed her eyes momentarily and sighed as if she'd been expecting something like this. "Simon…" she mumbled before calling out in a voice much more different than the one she'd been just using, "yes, it's me."

There was that knocking again, a brief rapping sound, followed by the sliding of wood against the dirt as the wooden door was pushed aside from the inside. Even in the darkness, Mush recognized Simon's fair hair; focusing on his face, he could see that Simon's shiner was coming to a head. "Where have you been?" her brother said. "Lindy's been askin' for ya."

And that was the end of their talk. Mush knew that. He'd only known the girl for a few hours and even he was aware that just invoking Lindy's name when it came to Polly was like an incantation.

"I'll be right inside," she promised.

Mush noticed that Simon looked at him curiously before he nodded. "Make sure ya do, Pol," he said at last before slipping back into the darkness, not even bothering to replace the wood behind him. Mush wasn't surprised, either. In fact, he almost wondered if Simon had even gone more than a few steps back down the hall.

"I have to go," she said, and there was a sadness to her voice that she finally allowed herself to show.

"Can I give ya somethin' else before ya do?"

"Oh, Mush, you've given me so much tonight," she said softly, and he realized she was worried about Simon lingering near the doorway, too. "The papers… the walk… I can't take anything more from you."

"But I'd really liked to give it," he said earnestly. And then, before he lost his nerve, he leaned in slowly, his lips puckered into a chaste kiss aimed for her cheek and—

_and_—

He was smiling as he slept, smiling as he dreamt, and it took a moment for the smile to fade as he realized where he was (the bunkroom) and who he was with (not Polly). Mush shook his head, blinked a couple of times and it wasn't long before his smile was nothing more than a disappointed frown.

A dream? It couldn't have just been a dream, could it?

Scrunching his brow, closing his eyes, he tried to remember… and he could. Every detail, too. From the crooked patch on her skirt to the wisps of hair flying around her dusty face, to the thick, heavy scent of smoke that hovered in the air inside the orphan's hide-away. He remembered it all vividly, he remembered the way he felt when he was with her, the way she made his stomach twitch and he knew then, no matter what, that it had to be real.

Didn't it?

"Mush?" Kloppman's gravelly old voice interrupted his thoughts then, bringing him back around. The old supervisor reached up and laid a wrinkled hand on Mush's arm. "C'mon, boy, sell the papes, sell the papes!"

Realizing that it wasn't Kloppman's fault for waking him up, Mush opened his eyes, stretched and tried to figure out where in the word he had put his shirt when he went to sleep for the night. As it was, he didn't even _remember_ falling asleep last night, and he was pretty sure he would've known what happened to his shirt if he'd had cause to remove it while he was with his dream girl.

It was easy to get swept up in the hectic whirlwind of another morning in the Newsboy Lodging House. He joked with Jack, he got hit in the face with shaving cream, he ducked and dodged as some of the younger boys chased each other… all in all, it was a regular, everyday occurrence. It was easy to forget, to push everything aside as he got ready for another day of selling. It was only when some of the other boys were teasing one another and Mush found he had nothing else to add that he made the decision to tell them about Polly.

"Met this girl last night," he announced, but no one in the entire bunkroom responded, the boys all preoccupied with their own morning rituals. Blink had just left the toilet and he shook his head as Mush tried to tell him about his… whatever it was, dream, true story, he couldn't really tell.

He didn't try again until after they got to the distribution center. With a belly full of bread and lukewarm coffee, Mush was in much better spirits after watching Jack Kelly run the foul Delancey brothers around before the morning gates had opened up. Cowboy won, he always did, and Mush cheered him along with Kid Blink at his side. They even joked as they got on the line outside of Weasel's window, Blink a little less jubilant than usual and Mush still wondering if he was, perhaps, losing his mind.

Each one of them bought a stack of papers; not too many, though, considering the lousy headlines. Then, following Jack's lead out through the gates, he listened as Jack explained every newsie's motto to a new curly-haired kid in blue—_Headlines don't sell papes, _newsies _sell papes—_before stopping with the group of them when a pretty (rich) girl scurried across their path. Like his fellows, he removed his hat, making the obligatory comment as the angel in white hurried by them—

—and then he remembered Polly, the sad look on her face when he removed his hat and the matter-of-fact way she explained how no one had ever shown her respect like that before. He blinked, jammed his hat back on his head, and was suddenly, absolutely convinced that it couldn't really be a dream.

He had to tell someone about her. Speaking quickly, waiting until Jack went off with his two new selling partners—the curly-haired kid had a cute-faced little brother—and the other guys all went their separate ways, Mush grabbed Kid Blink by the arm and started to tell him all about his dream. About Polly, about how he followed her to the place with all the children, about how motherly and kind she was to those kids, about how she made his heart speed up and his belly do a funny little flip, about how he suddenly decided he wanted to know more about her… about how he invited her on a walk across town.

It wasn't until he mentioned Race and Spot and his stop at Irving Hall that the look of pure disbelief at home on Blink's face made became too much and, realizing just how foolish he sounded, Mush stopped and allowed Blink to say something at last.

"What are ya talkin' 'bout, Mush? I met ya after ya sold last night, we went to Tibby's and was sleepin' in our bunks before curfew even hit. No one went to Medda's, and, unless ya went to Brooklyn after I went to sleep, I ain't too sure ya saw Spot Conlon." Kid Blink looked over at his best friend, concern written on his face, his good eye trained on Mush's earnest expression. He shook his head. "I knew ya never should've eaten all that bratwurst last night. It always gives ya a funny turn."

Earnestness giving way to confusion, Mush didn't have an answer for him.

* * *

He was quiet, his thoughts on the girl in white and the girl in (of) his dreams and on buttons. So quiet, in fact, that it took him a couple of blocks away from the distribution center, Kid Blink walking beside him in step, before it dawned on him that his partner was saying just as much as he was. Which, he noticed, was nothing at all.

"Blink, what's the matter?" Mush asked, feeling a touch guilty that his buddy seemed as preoccupied as he was. He just hoped he wasn't still worried about him. "You ain't said one word since we left the other fellas and I told ya 'bout my dream. That ain't like you."

"Sorry," Blink said shortly, shaking his head as if to clear it. When he had, he gave Mush one of his bright smiles that hardly looked like he meant it. "I've been thinkin'. Y'know, and not just 'bout what you said. Ya see, I just can't get over how I got cheated yesterday."

Mush thought back to last night—and not last night, but the evening before his dream—and wondered if Blink had told him anything about being cheated. Unfortunately, the only thing Mush remembered about last night had everything to do with his dream and nothing to do with an uneventful night at the lodging house—or an eventful night full of Kid Blink complaining about being cheated.

"Cheated?" he asked, honestly curious. He had to admit, being cheated was a lot more terrible than a really queer dream.

"Yeah, cheated," Blink said vehemently, not at all like his normally good-natured self. "With the trolley strike bein' the only thing in the news, I'm lucky if I sell half my papes… and to find that I had a button mixed up in my earnings… I coulda used that penny."

Mush stopped walking, stopping dead in his tracks. "Say that again."

Kid Blink looked at Mush as if he'd gone off his head. Speaking slowly, he repeated: "I found a button. In my pennies. I was cheated." He snorted. "I guess ya think I deserved it, too, for lettin' the bummer get away with the pape, right?"

But Mush ignored that. "Where were you when you got the button? Where did you sell yesterday?"

"In Bottle Alley," Blink answered hurriedly, holding up his free hand as if warding Mush off. He couldn't understand why it was so important or why Mush was suddenly up in face like that, but he figured it would be easier if he just answered Mush. Worse comes to worst, maybe Mush would take over that selling spot and he could be cheated for a change.

Then again, Blink thought as Mush grinned widely before clutching his papers to his chest and hurrying off in that direction, maybe it wasn't such a nice thing to send his pal running off to Bottle Alley. It wasn't fair to take advantage of someone who was obviously touched and Mush, well… it had been a little odd the way he was smiling in his sleep like that.

* * *

It was one thing to be optimistic. It was another entirely to believe so whole-heartedly in a dream that he was willing to throw a morning's work away to head down to Bottle Alley in search of a girl. But that was precisely what Mush Meyers did. He had to because, well, because of Blink's button.

He always thought Bottle Alley was a great place to sell until he got there and the stink and the filth and the overall dirtiness of the corner made him almost wish he was back at Duane Street. New York was always ripe in the summer, and there it was already halfway through July. Bottle Alley was sweltering, but there were no lack of people milling around the street. Maybe, if his dream proved to be nothing but, he might actually sell enough papers for him to drown his sorrows over half a glass of sarsaparilla at Tibby's.

He didn't even glance at the headlines. Tossing most of his stack at his feet, he perched himself on the busiest corner, a place with the best vantage point; if Polly passed by, he would hardly miss her. He could've shouted "Baby born with two heads!," if he had noticed the headline that Racetrack read out loud earlier that morning. Instead, remembering the one from his dream, he yelled out, "Man-eating rabbit on the loose!," never once bothering to wonder why that would even be considered front page-worthy news.

No surprise, he didn't have any customers rushing to buy a paper with a cry like that.

And then—

"I'd like to buy one."

Mush turned around as if he'd been spun like a top. His grin was already splitting just from the sound of the familiar voice; he didn't need to see the beggar's dress with the patch, or the smear of dirt that coated one cheek, or even the long lavender ribbon trailing over her shoulder. Hardly able to believe what he was seeing, he didn't meet her light blue eyes or watch the prim curve of her smile. Rather, his gaze dropped to her hand and what she held in it.

Even without taking it from her, he recognized that she was holding out a tarnished brass button.

Slowly, he raised his hand to remove his hat.

* * *

**End Note**: Well, that was my entry for the NYNA summer contest. And, yes, the deadline is tomorrow - nothing like a rush of procrastination and the crunch of a deadline to make my inspiration blossom and bloom. I liked the concept for this contest. It reminded of the show _Chopped_ on the Food Network: give me points that had to be included - turkey, an illness, a wild party at Medda's and Spot making an appearance - plus a couple things to throw in - the purple ribbon, a drunken Racetrack and a black eye, among others - and you have the longest one-shot fic I've ever written. I had a great time creating some OC's for this, plus focusing on Mush (which was fun, considering he doesn't have a role in_ Five_ and, I tell ya, this was a nice break from the scenes I'm finishing up for this week's chapter, whew!) and, for the first time in ages, trying my hand at a romance. Or, at least, as close to a romance as I'm likely to get ;)

I hope you enjoyed and, if you actually were able to sit down and get throw this whole thing, let me know what you think! I'm really curious to see what you guys think :)

- _stress, 07.31.10_


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